And as he sent the Devastator rocketing downward and to the north, he felt more convinced than ever that such was the truth.
"I could be wrong," he grunted softly as he kept his eyes fixed steadfastly on the other plane, "but I don't think so. Nope, I don't think so."
"Dave!" Freddy's voice suddenly screamed in his ear again. "Look to starboard and ahead, on the horizon line. I think I spot smoke from the funnel of some surface ship. Can you see it, too?"
Dave tore his gaze from the plane ahead and stared hard in the direction of the English youth's pointed finger. But all he could see was an endless expanse of blue water across which the shadows of coming night were beginning to steal. Where the water met the sky was little more than a blurred line to him. If there was smoke from a surface ship on that horizon line, he couldn't see it. However, many times had Freddy Farmer's eagle, X-ray eyes picked up things before he did. And so his heart began to dance about in his chest with wild excitement. And for the umpty-umpth millionth time he experienced that familiar eerie sensation at the back of his neck that seemed always to come to him when trouble and danger were in the offing.
"You sure, Freddy?" he called out. "I can't see a darn thing. It's all just horizon line to me."
"I'm not dead sure, but pretty sure," his pal replied. "It looks to me like—Yes, I am dead sure, Dave. That is smoke, a lot of it, from some craft that's traveling at top speed. Eastward, I think. And look at that Devastator, Dave! He's seen it, now. Look! He's banking northeast to intercept it. Dave! If that's smoke from a Jap warship, then we'll know we're right!"
"I know it now!" Dave cried. "Doggone well I do. Look at that rat tear! His engine is hitting top revs. Ten to one he's spotted us and is trying to give us the shake. Well, he won't. Not while we've got the altitude and can gain extra speed in a dive. Hold your hat, Freddy. I'm going to give this power plant all she can take. And be ready with those rear guns. He may start to get tough."
As Dave shouted the last, he jerked his head around and took a quick sweeping glance back toward the south. There was nothing there but darkening blue sky. Not a sign of the rest of the patrol. It had passed on out of sight on its journey back to the Indian. Dave swallowed impulsively and turned front again. His heart had stopped bouncing around. It had become a cold lump that hung suspended in his chest.
Any faint hope that he might have help with whatever was ahead had passed out of the picture. Just Freddy and he were left. It was up to them to finish the job they had started so long ago. How long ago, anyway? A week, a month, or ten years? It seemed even longer than that since that man reading the book in the room with the pails and mops had told them to go on into Colonel Welsh's secret offices. But how long ago it was didn't matter now. Freddy and he had come to the end of the trail. Luck, blind luck mostly, had brought them to the end of their manhunt. But blind luck, or very clever brainwork, what difference? Down there and ahead was a Navy torpedo bomber streaking north and east to cut across the bow of some surface vessel. An American vessel? Not a chance. It had to be Jap. And Dave was ready to bet his life that it was.
He could see the trail of smoke now. And Freddy had been right. It was coming from a surface ship with engines turning over at top speed. Perhaps it was a Jap destroyer, or a cruiser, or even possibly one of Nippon's big battle wagons. He didn't know. The ship was still down below the horizon line. But she was traveling, and traveling plenty fast.